Christine's Confession

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned."

Father Johnston heard the familiar words for the
umpteenth time that day. He had thought that all the
penitents had by now left his church but here was yet one more
sinner whom he could help find absolution in the eyes of God
and the Church.

"When did you last come to confession, my daughter?"

"Last week, Father. I have sinned grievously!"

"No one but One is perfect and without sin, my child.
Confess and perform the act of contrition which I prescribe
and you will surely be forgiven. Now what is your sin, my
daughter?"

The priest had recognised his parishioner's voice. It
was Christine Shannon, a young woman in her late twenties who,
he knew, was a teacher at a local school. The woman began her
confession.

"Father I am a teacher at a boys' school. This week the
headmaster lent me a valuable book from his collection. I
accidentally damaged it and tore two of its pages. It is
going to cost a fortune to have it restored. I didn't know
what to do. I was frightened to tell Mr Hill what I had done
to his book. I decided to do something wicked. There is a
boy in my class called John Laing, he's not too bright. I
gave him the book and made him think he'd torn it. Then I
returned the book to the headmaster and reported John for
tearing it.

"Mr Hill was annoyed with me, but he was really angry
with John. He called him to his office and caned him severely
- eight strokes. It really hurt him and he was in tears
afterwards. He still can't sit down properly. I never meant
him to be punished and I certainly didn't expect he would be
hurt so much. I didn't realise Mr Hill still used the cane,
but he said it was still the most effective punishment for
eighteen year olds. How can I be forgiven?"

Father Johnston paused before replying. He had been
expecting some minor sexual peccadillo. This, he decided, was
more serious.

"My daughter," he began, "you have sinned grievously.
You did not take proper care of valuable property entrusted to
you, you have lied and entered into a campaign of deceit and
worst of all you have caused a defenceless and innocent
youngster to suffer a great deal of pain.

"There are two paths available through which I can grant
absolution. The first is the more preferable. You must tell
the truth to both John Laing and Mr Hill, apologise and offer
to pay for the restoration. Can you do this, my child?"

"No, Father," muttered the girl, "I can't! What is the
other way?"

"A painful one, my daughter. You must accept on your own
body the same punishment suffered by the boy, John. Eight
strokes of the cane. Can you bear this, my child?"

Another pause. Then quietly. "Yes, Father. If you
punish me yourself and no one ever knows."

"There is no reason for anyone to know. Return here at
eight o'clock tomorrow night when the church will be empty.
Can you bring a cane from your school?"

"Yes, Father, I can do that. What must I wear? Shall I
be punished on my clothes or my bare flesh?"

Father Johnston considered. He was a celibate and did
not wish to lay himself open to undue temptation.

"You must wear a pair of thin trousers with no
undergarments. This will protect your modesty but ensure that
you feel the caning properly," he pronounced.

Christine left still unshriven and Father Johnston
wondered if he had made the right choices.

The next evening at eight the priest stood waiting in the
cold and otherwise empty church, wondering if Christine would
come. He didn't have to wait long. He saw her arrive a tall
raven-haired beauty of a girl. She wore a long coat and was
carrying a large shopping bag. The young teacher caught sight
of the priest and blushed deeply. She walked slowly up to him
and, opening her bag, handed Father Johnston a long slender
rod which he recognised as a senior school cane.

"Let's get this over with" he said. He went to the
church door and locked it. Normally the church always stood
open, this had to be an exception. "Take your coat off, bend
over and hold on to your legs as low down as possible!"

As Christine bent he hefted the cane. He was not unused
to such instruments. As a teacher in a Catholic boys' school
he had frequently used a cane on the behinds of naughty boys.
But never on a girl and certainly never on a fully mature
woman. Her curvy bottom swelled out the seat of her
light-brown trousers as she leaned down but no sexual feelings
were aroused in the priest. He merely noted with approval
that the trousers did, indeed, appear to be thin and that he
could see no sign that Christine was wearing any
undergarments.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, Father."

The priest lifted the cane high. Then he brought it down
with all his strength. It hissed down to lash into
Christine's trouser-clad behind at great speed. The tip
buried itself deeply into her right flank. It was the first
time Christine's behind had felt anything more painful than
the half-hearted slaps her mother had given her when she'd
been a little girl. It hurt much more than she'd expected.
She yelled out loud and almost straightened, but at the last
moment she managed to stay bent over.

Father Johnston allowed her a few seconds and then, just
as the pain in her bottom rose to a crescendo he delivered the
second stroke. It was just as powerful as the first and
landed parallel and just below it. Now Christine knew a
little better what to expect and the shock was less; but the
intense stinging was unbearable and she felt tears come to her
eyes. She grasped the material of her trouser legs tighter
and tried to think of the sufferings of Mary the mother of
God.

The priest waited for a few moments, deciding where to
place the third stroke. Then he released it to smash
viciously across the lowest part of the young woman's bottom.
He saw how the lithe cane bit deeply into the trouser-covered
flesh and then bounced out again. Christine yelled at the top
of her voice and her body shook in pain.

As Father Johnston watched the wrigglings of the
anguished girl's behind he experienced unfamiliar feelings.
He was a life-long celibate who had cut himself off from the
things of this world, but the sight of those brown trousers
stretched tight by the curvaceous bottom of the young teacher
whose nubile body was wriggling from the pain he was imparting
had began to arouse the old Adam in him.

He wanted to put such profane thoughts from him and to
punish the wicked thing that had aroused such feelings, and he
delivered the next stroke with more than his usual strength.
Father Johnston was a strong man and the cane whipped down
with religious ferocity. It landed on Christine's bottom with
devastating effect. Emitting a wild war-whoop of pain she
jumped a foot into the air and straightened, her hands going
to her outraged buttocks.

She stood there, moving from one foot to the other, her
long, thin fingers tenderly caressing her stinging behind with
tears literally pouring down her face. As Father Johnston
watched her he felt pity replace his anger.

"Come, my child," he said, "you have only accomplished
half your penance. I must deliver another four strokes. You
must be brave. Perhaps it would be better if you held on to
something. We'll go over to the pulpit and you can hold on to
the rail at the bottom."

Christine hobbled unsteadily, still cradling her buttocks
in her hands and sobbing to herself. She bent down as she had
been told and grasped the rail as tightly as she could. As
her stinging buttocks once more swelled out the material of
her trousers Father Johnston felt his righteous anger increase
again.

He intended to make the last four strokes land as closely
as possible on top of the first four. And he decided to make
sure that they were even harder - after all this was not
really a child, it was a young woman ten years older than John
Laing.

The fifth stroke came lashing down, burning furiously
across Christine's bottom. She screamed and her whole body
shook convulsively. She had never, ever, believed that such
pain could exist; it seemed as though the fires of hell itself
were burning her. Her hands whitened as they gripped the
rail.

WHACKK!

The sixth stroke was the hardest one yet. Christine was
praying silently in her pain but couldn't help yelling as the
cane landed. Tears streamed down her pretty face and dripped
to the floor.

WHACKK!

The cane contacted the undercurves of the tightly
trousered behind with a loud concussion. Father Johnston felt
the force of the impact all the way up his arm. The writhings
of Christine's anguished behind became even more pronounced.
The priest waited a while before delivering the last stroke
and tried to drive back his feelings of arousal as he
contemplated the wriggling feminine buttocks in front of him.
He intended the last stroke to be the most effective of all.

WHACKK!!

"ARRRRRRGH!!!"

Father Johnston's aim was poor, or Christine's squirmings
threw it out, and the cane landed lower down than he'd
intended, across the tops of her thighs. Her head shot back,
her fine black hair flying wildly and she screamed a scream of
agony. But there was joy too in the scream. Joy that she had
accomplished her penance and was once more in a state of
grace.

"Stand up, my daughter!"

Christine started to rise and the priest helped her to
her feet. She winced a couple of times and turned to face he
confessor but did not speak. She was still crying and he took
out his handkerchief and offered it to her. He let her have a
few moments to pull herself together and then said "In the
name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit I absolve you.
Go in peace, my child!"

Christine found that she could only walk taking short
steps and that even these caused spasms of increased pain as
her tortured buttocks rubbed together. The priest handed her
back the cane and she stuffed it quickly back into her bag.

As she walked slowly and painfully back to her flat
Christine resolved that she would never send a boy to Mr Hill
for the cane again. She had never imagined that it could hurt
so much!